Beauty Winter Coffee Shop
by riotousorder
Summary: Shouto ran away from the hero world years ago. But he knew he could no longer run with Hero Deku's out of the blue appearance at his little coffee shop. Izuku now had to unravel the mystery shrouding the red-haired barista at his favorite coffee shop in the States. (mute!Shouto, hero!Izuku, bucket loads of angst, mystery, suspense and psychology)
1. Chapter 1

Izuku loved coffee.

….

Ok well no. He was flat out lying. He was more of a tea person than the most tea person in this world.

He loved the little coffee shop.

Partly true. It was small, wedged between the back of two massive, modern glass buildings, a quaint Japanese style coffee shop. To Izuku, who had more hero business here in the States nowadays than in Japan, it was the taste of home that he had been missing.

He might or might not have a crush on the barista working there (the might was stronger than the might not).

Completely true but he was not about to announce that for the world to hear.

But seriously, the barista was way too cute, words alone could not do his look justice.

Speaking of the devil, he was here with Izuku's order. Mocha with a side of passion fruit cheesecake.

'Thank you,' Izuku mumbled, trying valiantly to hide the blush that spread across his face as he accidentally looked into the one visible bottomless grey eye. The other was covered with the long bang but Izuku was certain it was just as beautiful.

The man inclined his head minutely with a small smile not quite reaching his eyes before disappearing behind the counter, his flaming red hair leaving an invisible trail in his steps.

Izuku mentally slapped himself. No, this was not the time to fantasize. He came to the coffee shop with a mission and he was not going to be distracted by the cute, way-out-of-his-league, super attractive barista.

The thud as his forehead met the half-finished speech for tomorrow hero conference was resounding in the empty coffee shop at the late hour.

* * *

Becoming a hero came with a price, his confidentiality. He literally could not go anywhere without being recognised and mobbed by the eager crowd, asking for photos and signatures. Of course Izuku, being the nice and people-pleasing person he was, did his best to please everyone. And sometimes, it left him listless and inert.

But thanks to those overzealous fans (he had _fans_!), he found the little coffee shop haven while jogging ( _running_ , his mind whispered traitorously) away from them.

Fuyumi. Beauty winter. In crisp, meticulous Japanese script.

It had been only two weeks since he was away from home, but he already missed seeing Japanese characters everywhere on the street. His English was not bad but being surrounded with it 20/7 made him wish he wasn't the number three hero. With great power comes great responsibility and all that. And now, seeing something familiar in a not so familiar land made him tear up with thick fat happy gracious tears.

It didn't help that all the coffee-goers were Japanese-Amercicans though. Izuku loved _loved_ being surrounded in ambient Japanese chatter. And being just another nameless face in the crowd even though his clothing choice (cap and a pair of sunglasses) screamed famous. Probably due to the fact that all coffee goers were in their 40s-mid 50s with little care to gossips and gimcrack teen magazines.

It was no surprise that Izuku became a frequenter of the little store. It made his frequent overseas hero business more bearable and made him at least look forward to the next one, just because he wanted to strike up a conversation with the cute barista but never found the courage to.

* * *

 _ **AN: A coffee shop AU (a must-have for every fandom). oh my god stop me from starting new fic please!**_


	2. Chapter 2

The barista was mute. And it seemed that every coffee goer knew this, judging by the way they always carry casual conversations all by themselves, never demanding the barista to speak a word.

Except for Izuku.

He did have an inkling, seeing how quiet the barista was. But Izuku just brushed it off, putting it as the man's untalkative nature. And he kind of always talked enough for both of them when he placed his orders. Thank god for his muttering sometimes.

Right now, the barista was engaged in a rather animated chat with an affectionate old lady, hands making rapid, concise motions and the old lady replied in kind. It was all meaningless to Izuku but he could guess from the worry etched on the old lady's face that it was nothing pleasant. The barista's face gave no outward clue to what he was feeling but his hands trembled slightly.

Izuku felt a burning urge to push his French notes aside for a week or two and started cramming everything about sign language.

* * *

 _:Can I have a mocha and-:_ Izuku flexed his fingers in agitation, trying to recall the sign for this particular word _:-brownie, please?:_ He put the tips of his thumb and pinky finger together, while his index, middle and ring finger stayed up and close to each other. The motion pulled at the scars on his hand a little.

The barista's visible eye went a tad wider but that was about all the surprise that he shown before he signed something back to Izuku, who was too giddy with his first actual successful conversation with his crush to notice.

 _:Come again?:_ He signed back masterfully and apologetically. That was one of the first signs he learnt and made sure he remembered by heart. Right hand moved in an arc until the fingertips touch the left palm.

The barista repeated his hand motion, slower this time. Izuku recognized 'which' and took his precious time to remember the second motion. Middle finger curled, the other four outstretched, tapping the lower lip twice with the curled digit. Something to do with taste? Flavor?

'Flavor?' He asked out loud for confirmation, hand mimicking the motion.

The barista nodded simply.

Izuku gave himself a pat on the back for remembering before slapping himself on the forehead in disappointment with a loud smack. He hadn't learnt as far as the actual flavors.

So, smiling sheepishly, he pointed at the salty caramel one. The barista gave a nod, took out a paper cup and gave Izuku a thumbs-up before turning fully away from him.

Mom asked why he had a rather dopey smile on his face throughout their Skype conversation that night.

* * *

Izuku did not ask for the barista's name.

He. Did. Not. Ask. For. The. Barista's. Name.

What horrible oversight.

* * *

 _:What's your name?:_ Izuku asked on his last day in the States before heading back to Japan as the barista gave him the receipt.

The barista's unnerving stare made Izuku self-conscious. Was that too bold? That was definitely too bold. Maybe he should have asked later. But he could not keep referring to the man as the barista forever. He needed a name to associate with this gorgeous face.

Izuku gave his mind a mental bland smile (gorgeous, really?Think up something more creative). He was so falling head over heels for the barista.

See, that was the _exact_ reason why he needed the barista's name.

So he held gaze with the red-head, not giving an inch until he gave Izuku his name. He was going to have a severe case of mortification when this was all over and done with.

To his delight, the barista slowly raised his hand to his chest and placed it near the center.

 _:My:_

He extended his index and middle fingers with the rest of the fingers folded down. His left hand mirrored the sign. They formed a flat X in front of the barista. He tapped them lightly twice.

 _:Name:_

Izuku stopped breathing as the barista prepared to finger-spell his name.

And the signs made absolutely no sense to him.

 _What?_

The barista must have noticed his confusion too for he repeated the signs again, slower and more obvious.

Again they made absolutely no sense to Izuku. All he knew that it ended with a 'B'. He was having his notebook open to the page where he drew the alphabet and its respective sign. And they looked nothing alike the signs the barista signed, except for the last 'B'.

Izuku was certain he made no mistakes with his alphabet note. So why didn't he understand the sign?

Unless…

Sign language was, after all, a language. There was no universal language, just international one. So if the barista was a Japanese as Izuku believed him to be then he should have a Japanese name.

Which was impossible to sign with American Sign Language.

Oh.

The barista seemed to arrive at the same conclusion at the same time as he did. He swiftly plucked the receipt out of Izuku's slacked fingers and flipped it over. He expertly uncapped the pen with his pearly white teeth and scribbled on the back of it before handing it over to Izuku.

He wordlessly accepted it back. Neat, downwards-going, black katakana script spelt out 'Shouto'.

Shouto.

What a fitting name.

Izuku looked up from his momentary fascination to say thank you but Shouto had already vanished behind the counter, wiping the station clean as closing time drew near.

So he yelled a heart-felt thank you as he exited the shop, too deep in high spirits to think his every action through.

(He was going to die from it when he woke up tomorrow morning.)


	3. Chapter 3

Izuku had never looked forward to travelling abroad. As a matter of fact, he always left packing to the last minute and/or dickered futilely over the trip duration with his hero agency head, who conveniently happened to be Yaoyorozu. She was superb and understanding in general but unyielding when it came to these overseas trips.

' _You're representing our whole country Midoriya,'_ she had said. _'Unless you want Bakugou to come in your stead and risk the US firing nukes at us out of spite, then be my guest and cancel the flight.'_

Izuku had shut up fairly quickly after that.

So imagine her surprise when not only did he finish packing _five_ days before the flight, but he also willingly _discussed_ the upcoming trip with her.

'Something happened last time you were in the States,' she concluded, deadpan, after Izuku had ended detailing his sightseeing plan with a flourish. She reached up to fix her hair, which had gotten even more voluminous since UA. 'But I'm not going to pry because I know you won't answer. I'm just _relieved_ you've found the incentives.' The _'I'm fed up with your whining'_ wasn't said but he knew it was there.

 _Yeah,_ Izuku thought, _Shouto made a wonderful incentive._

'You're the best, Yaoyorozu.' He chirped from the doorway, pretending not to notice familiar scorch marks littering the wooden surface. If he didn't see them, then he didn't have to see the person who caused them.

'I know. And go find Bakugou before he blasts off my door.' Yaororozu had a different idea as she called after him from behind the closed door. ' _Again!'_

Looks like he couldn't put off seeing Kacchan any longer.

* * *

'Hiya, Kacchan!'

'YOU LITTLE FUCKER!'

 _ **BOOM!**_

'Woah there! Stop aiming for my face!'

'HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU RANK ABOVE ME, YOU PIECE OF ASS FLAP?'

'Uhm, people love me more?'

 _ **BOOOOM!**_

'Jesus Christ! I'm number two and you're number three. There's nothing wrong abou-'

 _ **BOOOOOOM!**_

'HUH? YOU SAY SOMETHING, SHITSTAIN?'

 _ **BOOM!**_ _CRACKLE!_

'Alright! Fine! You know what? Let's do this! No collateral damage though! I can't pay for it!'

'FUCKING DIE, DEKU!'

* * *

'I take that the talk went well?' Yaoyorozu commented lightly as Izuku trudged in with smoking hair and bruises in places he didn't even want to think about.

He mumbled in response, throwing himself bodily on the sofa across her desk.

'Here.' Yaoyorozu fanned his face with a stack of band-aids, sounding like she was stifling a laugh.

Izuku glanced at her from his left eye, which was less swollen than the right one. And yes, she was laughing. His stink eye just made her laugh harder.

'I suggest you pay a visit to Recovery Girl. Can't have you going to the meeting looking like you lost a bar fight with an angry firecracker.'

Firecracker? Kacchan? Quite accurate comparison. If only Kacchan was as full of joy as a firecracker.

Yeah, meeting Recovery Girl sounds good. He would not want see Shouto again while looking like a piece of walking blue cheese.

* * *

Izuku didn't even let himself catch a breath before he was hopping on a taxi and shouting direction to the driver. The conference was scheduled to start in an hour. Plenty of time to drop by the Fuyumi and say hi before he returned again in the evening for a proper greeting.

Thankfully, press was too busy with Aoyama, who was here on hero business as well as his French translator, to notice Izuku slipping away.

The shop was empty save for two old ladies playing shogi when he got there. Shouto appeared from behind the counter, carrying a tray with two steaming cups of coffee. He was just as Izuku remembered from his last trip a month ago. Flaming red hair, stormy gray eyes, thin face half covered with hair, nimble movements among chairs and tables. The only difference was the dark bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't had a good night sleep in weeks.

Izuku met Shouto's eye from beyond the glass window and waved cheerfully, mouthing 'hi'.

Izuku had expected surprise. He had expected a small smile. He had expected a signed 'hello'. He had expected many things but this was not the reaction he expected.

Confusion.

 _Fear_.

Shouto stilled. Firm hands that were holding the tray went slack. Porcelain cups shattered upon impact with the floor, splashing hot coffee all over gleaming floorboards, dark brown droplets specking his shiny dress shoes. Cake icing smeared the front of his waist apron. He stared at Izuku as if seeing a ghost, color draining from his face faster than greased lightning. His breath started to come out in short, rapid gasps.

A panic attack.

Izuku reached for the door, terror smouldering in his chest. It rattled on the door frame. Locked. He banged on the window with trembling fist, trying to get the old women's attention and shouting Shouto's name.

In the back of his mind, he wondered why the women hadn't batted an eye when cups and tray crashed onto the floor. He, even separated by a sheet of glass, could hear it loud and clear.

Just as he was about to kick the door down, the old lady facing the window finally looked up at him and turned around, as if registering Shouto's presence for the first time. Izuku faintly recognized her as the one who had held a signed conversation with Shouto from before.

She all but leaped over her chair and forcefully turned his head until her eyes were locked on his. And she started talking to the red head.

Izuku's heart slowed its beating as Shouto's breathing slowed. A few minutes passed before Shouto raised his hands to sign, brows creasing as he concentrated on subduing the shaking.

 _:I thought you said you haven't-:_ Shouto wrung his hands meaninglessly before he could take back control. _:-released your quirk?:_ He took a shuddering breath and brought his hands down with difficulty.

The old lady shook her head.

 _:Then why can he-:_ Shouto attempted to sign again but was stopped half way as she took his hands in hers and stared meaningfully at Izuku standing outside, who was too worried to force himself to tear his eyes away from a private conversation.

Shouto glanced at him with eyes so lifeless he might as well as be dead. He tried to stand but a hand on his shoulder force him to remain where he was as the old lady came to meet Izuku.

She unlocked the door and stepped out.

'The Fuyumi has yet opened, dearest customer.' She began, voice as lilting as a song with hint of raspiness. The steel in there, however, was apparent. 'Please return at a later time. We deeply apologize for your inconvenience.' She bowed at the waist, white hair curled at the end fanning kind, time-worn face. All courteous and apologetic, but all Izuku could hear was the underlying command.

 _'Leave. This is not for your ears,'_ was what she meant.

'Y-yes, I'll come back later then.' His voice shook slightly. This old lady, back in her prime, must have been terrifying.

'Thank you for understanding.' She smiled pleasantly, eyes crinkling forcefully. 'I bid you a good day.'

Izuku took a last glance inside the shop, where Shouto was kneeling in the puddle of coffee, mechanically picking up broken porcelain pieces, not registering the liquid that was soaking through the fabric, and walked off.

He seemed so lost and sad right at that moment. And it pulled at Izuku's heartstring.

* * *

The conference went as well as a train wreck.

Izuku forgot two-thirds of his part and had to have Aoyama completely took over. Then he muttered his way through press meeting, offering nonsense and mishearing questions several times.

All in all, it was disastrous. He might as well shave his head now to save Yaoyorozu the trouble when he got back.

He hesitated as he stood in front of the coffee shop. He didn't think it through when his feet automatically took him here. Should he be here? He wasn't dumb, he knew he was the indirect reason for Shouto's panic attack though he had no idea how. Would Shouto even want to see him if he triggered such a violence reaction from the man? Should Izuku really _be_ here?

No good, this line of thought was physically leading himself in circle.

 _If he left now, would he be able to sleep peacefully for the rest of his life?_

That was the question he needed to think about.

Izuku had his answer in milliseconds.

He took the metal handle in his hand and steeled his nerve. The bell above chimed a silver-toned as he pushed the door, cutting through the lively murmur of conversation within the shop at this twilight hour, when it was too early to go home but too late for a walk outdoor.

The customers hardly paid him any attention, focused on their books, their phone, their conversations.

Shouto was, as per usual, weaving through tables and chairs delivering orders with the skill of someone who had been at this job for years. The customers paid him no attention either, not even a thank-you when he put their drink down and bowed or an annoyed glance as Shouto knocked over a flower vase. He carried on talking to his phone, absently dabbing the tissue on his tie, which was dripping water onto the wooden floor, not sparing a glance to the waiter painstakingly mobbing the floor beneath.

Izuku got annoyed on Shouto's behalf. Businessmen thinking they were above everyone else just because they could make more money. Izuku held that type of people in contempt.

'Here, let me help,' he announced loudly as he thumped down to Shouto's eye level, taking sheets of tissue from his own pocket and placing them on the floor to soak up water. (He pretended not to notice the way Shouto almost jumped out of his skin like a deer caught in headlights and shrank into himself as if expecting to be hit). The defiant look and backtalk Izuku had planned the businessman fell short as he barely acknowledged Izuku's sudden appearance and anger-laced tone.

It was as though he and Shouto were invisible.

Was that the effect of a Quirk? One that could make the user invisible purposely? Kind of like Hagakure's Quirk but with an on-and-off switch. Could it be Shouto's quirk? That explained why it had taken the old lady so long to notice and subsequently help Shouto this morning. But it neither explained her companion turning a blind eye not Izuku himself being ignored by the coffee-shop-goers. Maybe Shouto could make someone else besides himself turn invisible just by looking at them. That was so cool! Imagine all the applications it could have in hero work! Intel gathering, infiltration, so on and so forth. But Shouto was, by all means, a civilian, who needed to find daily life uses for his Quirk. Hmm, in which situation while working in a coffee shop would you needed to be invisible? To hide facial expressions while serving cantankerous customers was a good one. His hands itched for a pen and a piece of paper. Of all the time he forgot his notebook, it had to be now when he met a Quirk user.

A light tap on his shoulder drew him out of his thought and his face immediately heated up.

He had been muttering. Again.

 _:Have a table, I'll bring your order in a minute:_ Shouto signed, eyes glued to his own hands, not commenting on Izuku's apparent bad and creepy habit.

'R-right,' He answered out loud while his hands made the corresponding movements.

Shouto nodded minutely, taking the mop, bucket and Izuku's soaked tissues with him to the back of the shop. Water in the bucket sloshed along his silent steps, a dreary sound that lost amidst the chattering crowd.

* * *

Izuku gnawed on the straw to his cup of coffee, typing away on his phone. His thoughts were getting all over the place so he needed to put some down before his mind became overloaded.

How he would love to have his notebook with him right now. Typing on touch screen did the job just fine but nothing truly beat the feeling of lead pencil tip sliding on time-worn paper.

He had been waiting for the right time to apologize to Shouto but the red head was in constant movement around the shop, never stopping to catch a breath. When he came to deliver his coffee, the usual mocha, Izuku finally made eye contact with Shouto. What he saw tugged painfully at his chest.

Muted defiance. Impotence. Defeat. Overwhelming sadness.

Suffocating desolation.

All these emotions blended together and pooled at Shouto's visible right eye, the left one covered with limp dull red strands of hair.

A silent scream for help from someone who was at their wit's end with death as their only escape.

Izuku wanted to reach out, to offer a hand to the sobbing boy, to be his friend, to cry with him, to be the thing that tethered him to life.

But Shouto withdrew into his shell faster the Izuku could reach him and walked away.

Before, Izuku had always thought Shouto's straight-backed gait was something admirable, mettle and dignified. Now, he could see it crumbling away, mental pieces by mental pieces, under the invisible weight on his shoulders.

* * *

Coffee goers dwindled down but Izuku's word count burgeoned as time went on. He had to delete an application to make place for his note.

Shouto was sitting across the room, playing chess with the very same old lady from the morning. She spoke after every move and Shouto penned his reply with his left hand while thinking about the counterattack.

Izuku tried his best not to eavesdrop but the words just flowed into his ears and kept him curious.

'I undid the effect on your sister.'

Scribbling.

'A bit later I suppose.'

Scribbling.

'Yes, she has. A fine university professor. The youngest, too.'

Scribbling.

'Enough about your sister. Are you prepared?'

Scribbling.

'You are lying.'

Silence.

'I am sorry I can't help you no more.'

Scribbling.

Izuku tuned back out as the woman said nothing else and lapsed back into tranquil silence.

Including him, they were the only three people left in the shop and Izuku waited for closing time so Shouto had to come and requested him out of the shop. He was going to apologize then and there and depends on how things went, might shyly offer friendship to Shouto as well.

* * *

 ** _AN: This story will no longer be romance. It will be angst and mystery. I know I can never trust my plot._**


End file.
